


and rain will make the flowers grow

by teenytinyband



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death, F/M, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, pet death, ron and hermione love each other very much, ron gets emotional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28680213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenytinyband/pseuds/teenytinyband
Summary: Ron's day starts like any other-- until Hermione announces Crookshanks has died.Ron takes it harder than he expected.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	and rain will make the flowers grow

**Author's Note:**

> during a reread of PoA, it occurred to me that Ron, a person who doesn't take the loss of pets well, would be distraught at the death of Crookshanks. thus, this fic was born. thanks to Joanie for encouraging me to write this!

When Ron’s alarm goes off, he rolls over to find Hermione’s side of the bed empty. 

This isn’t unusual, of course— Hermione is an early riser and gets up before he does, most days. So Ron grabs his dressing gown and slippers and makes his way downstairs. It’s time for a cup of tea and to see what drivel Rita Skeeter has to say in the  _ Prophet  _ this morning. He and Hermione used to hate-read Skeeter’s articles, but it’s more amusing now than anything. 

The morning sun shines through the kitchen windows as Ron levitates a teacup out of the cupboard and searches for the Earl Grey. Absentmindedly grabbing a biscuit out of the tin, he sets the kettle boiling and grabs the  _ Daily Prophet  _ off of the table. In the middle of Rita’s latest article, detailing Ginny’s “affair” with the Weird Sisters’ bassist, the door leading to the garden door slams shut. Ron can hear Hermione’s footsteps, and as he pours his tea, he turns to greet her, making a mental note to tease Harry about the article later.

“Morning, love,” Ron grins at Hermione. “You’ve  _ got  _ to see the latest from Skeeter— apparently Ginny’s getting with Curly Widdershins!” 

Hermione lets out a weak giggle, and it’s then that Ron looks, really  _ looks _ , at his wife. 

“Hermione?” Ron asks, worriedly. “What’s wrong? Why is there dirt all over your hands?” 

Hermione sniffles, and Ron can tell that it’s with great effort she’s trying to keep her voice steady when she speaks. “Ron...Crookshanks died.” 

“Wh— what?” Ron manages to get out. “Crookshanks—” 

And then, before Ron realizes it, he’s crying. 

Hermione throws her arms around him. “Shhh, it’s okay. He was an old cat, Ron, and he wasn’t doing well. We both knew that.” 

It’s a small comfort to Ron to feel Hermione’s round belly pressing against him, a reminder that soon, their own child will be here, but all Ron can manage to say is, “But now our kid won’t know Crookshanks!” 

Hermione gives him a watery smile. “You were afraid Crookshanks was going to eat the baby while they were sleeping, Ron.”

“Well, yeah, he was a nutter, but he was  _ our  _ nutter!” 

Hermione kisses his cheek and wipes away a tear. “He was. Remember when we were in third year and you absolutely  _ hated  _ him?” 

“He was trying to  _ kill my rat _ , Hermione!” 

“He was trying to bring an animagus to an escaped convict,” Hermione corrects, a hint of amusement shining in her brown eyes. “He was much smarter than we gave him credit for, wasn’t he?” 

“He was,” Ron admits. “Crookshanks was a good cat.” 

And then, Ron bursts into tears again. Hermione just holds him, and he can feel her own tears against his t-shirt. They stand there for who knows how long, holding each other and mourning their nutty, bushy-tailed cat. 

“Why do you have dirt on your hands?” Ron asks, after he manages to stop crying a second time.

“I was in the garden trying to dig a grave for him,” Hermione replies. “I thought it’d be nice to do it without magic.”

“Hermione! You’re seven months pregnant, you shouldn’t be doing that!”

“I’m pregnant, not an invalid, Ron!”

“I don’t care! I don’t want you hurting yourself!” 

Hermione rolls her eyes. “It’s not  _ that  _ intensive, you know!”

Ron sighs. “Why don’t you make yourself your own cup of tea, and then meet me in the garden?”

Hermione agrees, and Ron heads out into the summer heat. He begins to dig, and remembers watching Harry do the same thing for Dobby, nine years ago. Harry had said it hadn’t felt right to do it by magic for Dobby, who had risked so much to bring them to safety. And in a way, it doesn’t feel right to do it by magic for Crookshanks, the cat who had tried his best to prevent Peter Pettigrew from harming Harry. It might be silly to an outsider, or even to someone like Percy, to be going through so much pomp and circumstance for Hermione’s ancient ginger menace— and Ron means that with love, he really does— but it’s  _ important _ , dammit! 

Hermione comes into the garden some fifteen minutes later, carrying a teacup, eyes red-rimmed.

“I think it’s deep enough,” Ron tells her, setting the spade down. “Where— where did you put Crookshanks?”

Hermione points to a large covered box, sitting on the bench next to their vegetable garden. “I put him in there. With a blanket, and his favorite toy, and an Extendable Ear. He loved playing with them.” 

Ron summons the box and levitates it into the freshly-dug earth, squeezing Hermione’s hand. They both gaze down at it, and then Hermione says, softly, “Should we say a few words?”

“I think so, yeah,” Ron agrees. “Crookshanks, you furry bastard, thank you for being the best cat I could’ve asked for—”

“Ron, don’t call him a bastard!” Hermione cry-laughs. 

“Fine— Crookshanks, you furry little angel cat—”

“Ron, be serious!” Hermione chides, though Ron can see her lips twitch while she tries not to laugh. 

“I  _ am  _ being serious, thank you very much,” Ron says, grinning at his wife. “Crookshanks was a perfect angel.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Yes, because that’s what I heard you screaming at him when he destroyed your shoes, or the time he got so high on catnip he went on a rampage and ate your Keeper’s gloves.”

Ron shrugs. “He knew I meant it with love.”

“He did,” Hermione says quietly, squeezing his hand. 

“Crookshanks,” Ron begins again, “I know we didn’t get along, especially in the beginning, but you really were the best cat I could’ve asked for. You were there through times good, bad, and everything in-between. Hell, you tried to save our best mate’s  _ life _ , even though we didn’t know it at the time. You were a good cat and a good friend, and I know I speak for both Hermione and myself when I say we’ll miss you very much.”

All Hermione can manage to say is a small, soft, “Thank you, Crookshanks. I love you.” 

Ron kisses her head, and together they ceremoniously pile dirt over Crookshanks’ makeshift casket. 

“We should plant sunflowers over it,” Ron says quietly, when they finish. “Crookshanks loved them.” 

“We should,” Hermione agrees. “Ron? Thank you for doing this with me.”

“Of course, sweetheart. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Hand-in-hand, Ron and Hermione exit the garden. 

  
  



End file.
